"I
have sot so;--it will come out when she is one day in a terrible scene
. . . Mon Dieu! it was a terrible scene for me when I looked on ze clout
zat washed ze blood of ze terrible assassination. So goes out a voice,
possibly! Divine, you say? We are a machine. Now, you behold, she has
faints. It may happen at my concert where she sings to-morrow night. You
saw me in my carriage speaking to a man. He is my spy--my dog wiz a nose.
I have set him upon a woman. If zat woman has a plot for to-morrow night
to spoil my concert, she shall not know where she shall wake to-morrow
morning after. Ha! here is military music--twenty sossand doors jam on
horrid hinge; and right, left, right, left, to it, confound! like dolls
all wiz one face. Look at your soldiers, Powys. Put zem on a stage, and
you see all background people--a bawling chorus. It shows to you how
superior it is--a stage to life! Hark to such music! I cannot stand it; I
am driven away; I am violent; I rage."

Pericles howled the name of his place of residence, with an offer of
lodgings in it, and was carried off writhing his body as he passed a fine
military marching band.

The figure of old Agostino Balderini stood in front of Merthyr. They
exchanged greetings. At the mention of Rome, Agostino frowned
impatiently. He spoke of Vittoria in two or three short exclamations, and
was about to speak of Carlo, but checked his tongue. "Judge for yourself.
Come, and see, and approve, if you can. Will you come? There's a meeting;
there's to be a resolution. Question--Shall we second the King of
Sardinia, Piedmont, and Savoy? If so, let us set this pumpkin, called
Milan, on its legs. I shall be an attentive listener like you, my friend.
I speak no more."

Merthyr went with him to the house of a carpenter, where in one of the
uppermost chambers communicating with the roof, Ugo Corte, Marco Sana,
Giulio Bandinelli, and others, sat waiting for the arrival of Carlo
Ammiani; when he came Carlo had to bear with the looks of mastiffs for
being late. He shook Merthyr's hand hurriedly, and as soon as the door
was fastened, began to speak. His first sentence brought a grunt of
derision from Ugo Corte. It declared that there was no hope of a rising
in Milan. Carlo swung round upon the Bergamasc. "Observe our leader,"
Agostino whispered to Merthyr; "it would be kindness to give him a duel."
More than one tumult of outcries had to be stilled before Merthyr
gathered any notion of the desi